Let My (True) Love Open the Door
by chrissie0707
Summary: Missing Scene 6X17 "Awake." Emma had once questioned whether she was even capable of true love, not to mention deserving of it, and now she's depending on it. Trusting it. She digs deep, and whispers his name as she upends the vial.


_Author Note: Keeping canon and as true to screen as possible has always been very important to me, and a priority in my fanfic writing. Having said that, I have also taken liberties here and there. This is a 'here' situation. I'll say this is 95% canon, while stretching out a moment that happened very quickly on screen, and interpreting a few things we didn't see. Many thanks, as always, to my muse's muse, who introduced this new batch of characters to me._

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 **Let My (True) Love Open the Door**

Emma grips the vial of shimmery pixie petal dust tightly, turns from her slumbering parents to Regina with wide eyes. "How do I…" She's at a total loss, experiencing an intense mental and emotional overload, and can't form one coherent thought or isolate a single feeling from the nervous stampede running rampant through her chest.

"Just think of Hook," Regina offers, in a calm, businesslike manner that seems grossly out of place given the state of things.

And yeah, sure. That sounds obvious enough, and easy enough, but Emma's frantically tripping heart is fractured, tugged in too many directions. Her mother and father lie behind her, horribly cursed without an answer for breaking their sleep, and Killian is trapped in an unknown realm, clearly in more imminent danger.

She nods and steels herself, rolls her shoulders and squares up to the room, leaving space in front of her for the portal to form. Emma had once questioned whether she was even capable of true love, not to mention _deserving_ of it, and now she's depending on it. Trusting it. She digs deep, and whispers his name as she upends the vial.

The cascade of glittery dust never touches the floor, but catches in a brief gust of wind that smells of leather and rum and forms the shape of a familiar portal: ornately carved columns framing a solid oak door with an antique iron knob. Emma's whole world narrows to that door, and time comes to a screeching halt.

The door swings open to reveal a swirling amber-hued portal, that cracks and fizzles with otherworldly light. She can't see what lies on the other side, but it couldn't matter less. She'd walk into Hell to get Killian back; has before. The surety of the thought both frightens and strengthens her, and she takes a step forward.

Regina reaches out and grips her arm, holds her back. "Emma, wait."

Her head whips over, betrayal burning in her chest and gaze. She wrenches her arm free. "What are you doing?"

"Let the portal fully form, before you go charging through half-cocked," Regina advises, dipping her chin. "Better to know what you're walking into."

Emma doesn't CARE. That's not a luxury they have _time_ for. It's not a luxury _Killian_ has time for.

But Regina's right, whether Emma wants to admit it or not. She nods numbly, and twists back to the open door. It can't take more than a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity passes before the terrifying scene finally swims into focus.

She'd expected it to be bad. Killian had severed his shadow to get this hopefully useful piece of old wood to her, and lost his hook in the process. The hook is an extension of the man, more than a namesake, and Emma's never known him to be without it unless he's in trouble. When he wasn't himself the night of their first real date, or dropped bloody at her feet as a message from Hades. Seeing the hook without Killian was almost more startling than facing those piercing blue eyes of his lonely shadow.

It's night on the other end, with pillars of eerie orange firelight reaching into the inky black sky. The beach setting strikes her as immediately familiar, in a way that sinks a rock in her stomach while simultaneously lifting her heart into her throat. There's a flurry of activity on the sand, several short, dark-clothed shaped milling about purposefully.

And at the center of the unsettling tableau, Killian is perfectly framed in the open doorway, as though caught in a hunter's crosshairs, as he's crowded by several of the shorter figures and forced against a post.

"No," Emma whispers, though her traitorous body is oddly immobile, frozen in place.

"It's Neverland," Regina says needlessly, in a horrified voice.

"Sorry, Captain."

Emma's breath hitches as she struggles to identify the speaker. The strange woman's words are muffled, like Emma's eavesdropping on a private conversation in the next room, her ear pressed to the wall.

"Don't be." Killian's response is muddy with distance, his voice slow and thick, and he's not putting up a fight against the Lost Boys. "All that matters is that Emma got the wand."

There's an out-of-place look of resignation in his eyes, and that's what spurs Emma into action. Because Killian is a _survivor_.

She's aware of voices behind her, Regina and Henry; possibly encouraging her, possibly calling her back from the brink of danger, but she can't make out what they're saying. Not that she'd listen. She refuses them the opportunity to tell her it's not worth the risk. Nothing else matters but getting to Killian.

Emma leaves her family – and safety – behind her without another thought, races through the portal toward Killian. It solidifies as she crosses the threshold, and she shoulders open a partnering door into Neverland. Hardwood turns to sand beneath her boots, and she skids to a wide-eyed stop.

"Emma? What are you doing?" Any remnant of that frightening resignation flees Killian's features as soon as he sees Emma.

He'll fight for her just as hard as she has for him, and she feels a toxic surge of guilt for ever believing he'd left her without a word, by choice.

"Run, now!"

Emma startles into action but he's not talking to her. She doesn't recognize the woman who quickly breaks free of her captors and runs for the shadowy cover of the woods at the edge of the beach.

Her sudden appearance has startled the Lost Boys, but they have a reputation for swift, sociopathic violence, and it won't take long from them to recover from the distraction, and mobilize. She surges forward with renewed purpose, and the boys are little more than obstacles between them. Emma's swinging fists connect, but she doesn't really feel it as she fights to clear a path for Killian, likewise barreling forward determinedly.

When he reaches Emma, they grab at each other, and a drag-tackle hybrid of motion sends them stumbling over the threshold of the waiting portal, returning them to Storybrooke in a falling tangle of limbs.

The portal snaps into oblivion, and the room falls silent.

Killian is deadweight on top of her and Emma would be terrified by his stillness, but they're so close, she can feel his heart beating madly. They really couldn't have cut it any closer. She takes as deep a breath as she can manage, and gives him a moment to collect himself before shifting up to her feet.

Knowing he was gone had left Emma feeling numb and unwhole, like some intangible but inarguably vital piece of her had gone with him. She just hadn't realized how sizeable that piece was until she saw him. And almost lost him again.

She would have given half her heart to bring this man home from the underworld, and she'll give the whole damn thing to keep him close now, and safe.


End file.
